


Skin

by Traynor



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/F, Oral, Rape/Non-con References, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-30
Updated: 2013-05-30
Packaged: 2017-12-13 10:22:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/823200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Traynor/pseuds/Traynor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A very drunk Aveline stumbles home to Gamlen's hut, where Bethany is the only one home to find her.  Bethany's crush on Aveline drives her to take advantage of the woman's unconscious state.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skin

**Author's Note:**

> For [this thread](http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/9730.html?thread=41097474#t41097474) on the kmeme.

There’s a crash in the other room, the sound of the front table hitting the wall, a sound she’s well familiar with after weeks in Gamlen’s house. It can only mean one of two things. Well three, but her sister was out for the whole night, which leaves her choice to be either Gamlen stumbling in drunk, or Aveline doing the same. Bethany frowned and hoped for the latter as she opened the bedroom door and stepped out into the hallway. Excitement shuttered through her veins as she caught sight of the red-headed woman, and a moment later her skin turned cold as she watched Aveline tumble forward, and land flat on the dirty floor.

She rushed to her side. “Aveline. Aveline, get up.” 

There was no answer. 

It was not the first time their friend has crashed through the front door, drunk and tired and incapable of making it much further than the front door. It was the first time it’s happened while Bethany had been home alone. Her mother would’ve had strict words for her if she’d known Bethany was home alone, but there was still some safety to be said for anonymity. And what Leandra didn’t know while she spent the night with friends in Hightown: wouldn’t hurt her. 

She shook Aveline, who stirred, but didn’t wake. 

She glanced at the open bedroom door, the room she shared with her sister and Aveline, and then back down to the large woman on the floor. She’d spent so many nights thinking about her and Aveline alone in that room together, but a drunk and sleeping Aveline had not been part of her imaginings. 

Biting her bottom lip, Bethany hummed. Her hands were still on Aveline’s shoulders and she stared at the woman, candlelight giving her features an even warmer glow than usual. Her freckles were muted, but her hair shone like fire and her skin seemed as if lit from inside. Bethany stroked a hand across Aveline’s cheek, pushing aside the loose strands that had fallen over her face. 

“Alright,” she whispered to herself (or maybe to Aveline, she wasn’t quite sure), “let’s see if I can get you to bed.” She flushed at the thought. It hadn’t been her intention, but even a drunk and sleeping Aveline was beautiful, and the thought of laying down next to her had her on her feet quickly.

Bethany was not a weakling. One would think from the way her sister and Carver had always treated her so delicately that she shouldn’t even be able to lift her own staff. But you don’t live on a farm and not pick up a few things. However Aveline outweighed her by several stones and being asleep, she was even more unwieldy to manage. Once she had Aveline turned onto her back, it was a little easier to lift up her arms and drag her into the bedroom.

Aveline stirred several times, but it was only to call out the same sort of nonsense she did every night. The sounds she made were half-words and grunts that Bethany had always assumed were fights the woman relived in her sleep. A few times, she’d heard her call out for Wesley, and that was no surprise either. The woman had lost her husband the same day they’d all met for the first time, the same day Carver had died. And that had been only been a few months ago. It made sense in the same way the stink of Corff’s watered-down ale stuck to her: it was clear Aveline was still grieving. 

Her grief had not kept Aveline from keeping up her strength during the day. She fought, she worked, and she watched over their family like she was one of them. The day Carver and Wesley had died, Aveline had soldiered on without a word. It was only the shadows in her eyes and the drunken nights at The Hanged Man that gave away her grief. It was one of the things that had drawn Bethany to her. 

Not a day had gone by that Bethany had forgotten her brother, she and her sister both grieved. They tried to console their mother, and it was clear that Leandra took more of it out on her sister than she did on Bethany. The fights between them had driven Bethany to their room more often than not, and when her sister fled the house to work for Athenril and get away from their mother, it was Aveline that came to her with comfort. The woman gave a mean hug. They were rare, but strong and her arms engulfed Bethany in warmth. She couldn’t remember exactly when those hugs had meant more than comfort to her, but it kept her awake nights.

Once she had Aveline inside and onto the pallet the three of them shared, Bethany closed the door to the bedroom. She bit her lip again, and stared down at the woman, whose lips curled into a smile in her sleep. Bethany sat down next to her, brushing her hands through Aveline’s hair like she’d seen her do before bed. She took off the leather band and stretched out to lay it on their small table before going back to Aveline’s hair. 

When she was content there was little else that could be done for her hair without bathing it, Bethany tried to lay down next to Aveline like she’d done every night since they’d arrived at Gamlen’s. Except this time, without blowing out the candle on the corner table. She wanted to be able to see Aveline as she lay pressed against her. Only when she put her head down, prepared to rest it against Aveline’s back, she caught a whiff of the tavern, and saw the dirt on Aveline’s leather tunic. 

She sighed. Sitting up, she searched the room for Aveline’s nightshirt, finding it balled in a nearby corner, laying inside a familiar shield. 

Bethany stood. Starting with Aveline’s boots, she worked to peel away the layers of leather and grime and stench the woman carried on her. With boots and the tunic gone, the smell was nearly gone, but Bethany’s hands were tempted further. She rested her hands on Aveline’s thighs, feeling how firm they were even with a layer of cloth between their skin. As if they moved of their own accord, Bethany’s hands swept up, finding the curve in Aveline’s hips and waist she hadn’t even known was there beneath the armor and heavy clothes she always wore. 

Shaking her head, Bethany pulled her hands back and balled them into fists in her lap. Her eyes went to Aveline’s face, who looked no different than she had before she’d been partially undressed. Her eyes were closed, though there was movement beneath her eyelids and her mouth curled into a rare half-smile. Bethany wished she could see that smile more when Aveline was awake. Even as small as it was, it meant there was more to the woman than fight and grief. If a woman like Aveline could have more to her, could still find a smile after everything that had happened, maybe Bethany could too.

Tentatively, Bethany reached out and ran a fingertip over the curve of Aveline’s lips. The rest of her hand curled lightly under her jaw. Grabbing the nightshirt she’d set next to her while she’d removed Aveline’s boots and tunic, Bethany stood up only to kneel down again her legs straddling Aveline’s. 

She worked the laces of the trousers Aveline wore until they were loose enough that Bethany could get them to wiggle down over the woman’s hips. She folded them and put them in Wesley’s shield where she’d found the nightshirt. As she came back, she was nearly over the top of Aveline, her face inches away. Unbidden, she thought what it would be like to kiss that smile on Aveline’s lips. What she might taste like, what she might feel like. 

When she’d been younger, around the same time Carver had started talking about how pretty that girl of his, Peaches, was, Bethany met a girl of her own. Lia was small and quiet and behind the back pews in the chantry, they’d knelt down in prayer and found their hands clasped together, easy and soft. In the fields just beyond the mill, they’d shared their first kiss and it had been just as soft and just as easy. And for days it was all she’d wanted to do. Sometimes she still dreamt about that girl, though Lia’s family had moved away more than a year ago. A lot of people had moved away in those days.

Looking down at Aveline felt a little like kneeling in the chantry with Lia’s hand in hers for the first time. It would be soft and easy and taste warm as sunshine.

She shook her head and pulled away. Aveline wasn’t the same as some girl in their village. She wasn’t a girl at all. She was their friend, she was a soldier and she’d never even shown Bethany anything but kindness. It didn’t matter how soft her legs were compared to the rough skin on her hands, or how many times Bethany had ached to touch her in the middle of the night when they were all supposed to be asleep. She flexed the fingers on both her hands to distract her from the thought of Aveline’s body beneath hers and the tunich she still needed to change her out of so she could put the nightshirt on.

Bethany took a deep breath, opened and closed her hands and then undid the ties on Aveline’s tunic. They were tighter than she expected them to be and her hands shook a little as she tried to concentrate to get them undone. When they were loose enough, she slipped Aveline’s out of the tunic, folded it and put it on top of the trousers in Wesley’s shield. She gripped the side of the shield, letting the cold metal remind her exactly why she needed to put any foolish notions about kisses, or touches, or anything else, out of her mind.

When she drew back again, she avoided looking at Aveline’s face again so as to avoid thinking about how soft her lips would be. But it meant catching sight of the tops of Aveline’s breasts just above the line of her breast band. Bethany had seen her in her smalls before, but that had been in their first days in Kirkwall, when Aveline had still worn a breast band covered by a tightly wound strip of fabric. But, beneath her tunic now, she wore something similar to what Bethany wore, newer and cleaner perhaps. It was loose and it made seeing the trail of freckles that trailed over the top and between Aveline’s breasts a compelling sight.

Bethany stared. She watched the rise and fall of Aveline’s chest, the way her breasts moved gently with each breath. She followed the trail of freckles to just above her bellybutton where the space between them was greater and greater. Her fingertips ached to trace the spots lower, she even moved back until she could see the few dots that tempted her just above Aveline’s smalls.

Her breath caught at the idea of lifting that small strip of cloth and finding what Aveline looked like below. She wet her lips as she felt the the pool of warmth low in her belly and the twitch of lust between her thighs. She knew it was wrong to want it, to want Aveline, but perhaps if it was just this once... 

A deep, sleepy sigh and a quick glance up confirmed Aveline was still asleep. Knowing she might never have such a chance again, Bethany slipped her fingers below the band of Aveline’s smalls. She tugged on them until she could slide them down onto Aveline’s thighs. There was a mound of curly red hair just below her, and Bethany slid her fingers into it before she even had a thought to stop herself. She sighed, stupidly happy at the feel of the coarse hair between her fingers. Her own body reacted to the sight and she ached to put a hand into her own smalls to feel the wetness she knew was there.

There was no denying she wanted Aveline. And having come so far, and with no response, Bethany was compelled to do more. 

She leaned down and pressed her lips to Aveline’s stomach. She tasted the salt and softness of the other woman’s skin. With her next breath, she pressed her tongue to the dent between the defined muscles. A moan escaped her lips as she followed the freckles up with a flick of her tongue. She moved a hand to Aveline’s breasts, finding one of them too large to fit in her hand and she squeezed gently. Her thumb caressed a nipple through the fabric and she was grinned to find it hardened with that simple touch. 

In her sleep, Aveline murmured something and Bethany stopped, feeling her heart clench tight with fear she’d been caught. She closed her eyes and held still, hands and tongue still on Aveline. A moment passed and Aveline took in a deep breath, settling back to sleep with a light snore. Relief flooded through Bethany and she opened her eyes, looking through the mounds of Aveline’s breast to catch a glimpse of her sleeping.

She sat up, eyes locked on Aveline’s. She slipped her hand off Aveline’s breast, letting it glide down her side, until she was resting it on her own leg where she kneeled.

There was a war inside her and her body felt like there was magic pouring from her skin, hairs standing on end. She could still feel Aveline under her other hand, and the part of her that could not tear herself away, won. Turning her hand, she slipped her fingers between Aveline’s warm folds, and tentatively swirled a finger to match the search she made on herself for the small slip of sensitive flesh. Hers was wet and she stroked it eagerly, holding her breath as the slickness grew. 

Aveline’s smalls were still hitched down on her thighs and Bethany could not move her fingers well between the woman’s thighs. As much as she hated to move, she did, using both hands to divest the woman of the small bit of fabric that Bethany from a taste she desperately craved.

Aveline sighed in her sleep, the smile gone, but she did not move. Bethany slipped back down to the floor, pushing Aveline’s legs apart finding some urgency driven by the warmth and wetness of her own body. She laid down on her chest and drove a hand into her smalls, fingers prying herself apart and stroking needily. Awkwardly, she slipped the fingers of her free hand into Aveline’s mound of hair, between her folds until she could hold them apart and slide her tongue between them. 

Bethany moaned, holding in something more fierce as she wrapped her legs around Aveline’s until there was a pressure against the back of her hand between her legs. Her tongue stroked the woman in long, hungry strokes, finding the taste of her better than she could’ve imagined. As she lapped greedily against Aveline’s skin, the strength of her taste grew stronger. It grew easier to swirl her tongue around, to suck in the wetness that formed. 

She rested her head against Aveline’s thigh as she bobbed her head to lick and stroke and probe every inch of Aveline she could reach with her tongue. She worked with the rhythm of herself, bucking her hips against her own hand, and driving her tongue inside Aveline at the same moment. She sped up her fingers just as she flicked her tongue quickly over Aveline’s swollen clit. She tried to match her own need with what she anticipated in Aveline. 

More than once her body stiffened as Aveline moved, or a moan escaped her own lips, or a soft cry from Aveline’s. In those moments, she nearly stopped. She hated herself for letting it get this far. And in the next moment, her fingers would twitch and she would writhe against Aveline, tasting her anew. It was maddening, but the woman didn’t wake and she couldn’t stop.

At last, she cried out, a choked cry let out against Aveline as she came into her hand and her smalls. That feeling was nothing new. But a moment later as she stroked her now free thumb against Aveline, her hips jerked and her leg pulled free of Bethany’s. She groaned in her sleep and it was like music to Bethany’s ears. It made her twitch and sigh, and she put her hands between her legs once more, as she softly kissed the warm, wet (she hoped satisfied) Aveline now beside her face. 

When she came for the second time, she almost broke the skin of her lip, biting too hard to keep from tasting Aveline again. On shaky legs, she leaned down and slipped the tunic over Aveline’s head, and maneuvered her legs back into her smalls. 

She snuffed out the light and laid down against Aveline, who was warm and snoring lightly, putting her head against the woman’s back. 

“I’m sorry, Aveline,” she whispered. It was quiet for a few moments after, in which Bethany tried to sleep, eyes squeezed shut. The taste of Aveline was all around her, she swept her tongue over her teeth and swirled it inside her mouth. She smiled and then forced it away, reminding herself how wrong she was. How bad this was. 

She prayed Aveline wouldn’t know what happened. At the same time, she hoped she did. She wanted it to happen again. She wanted to feel Aveline’s hands on her, to have Aveline between her legs to taste her. Her body responded to the idea, clit twitching and at the ready for another round of her fingers. She groaned softly as she turned her back to Aveline to hopefully rid herself of further, stirring thoughts. 

Aveline breathed deep, with a snore loud enough to be borne of alcohol. Bethany sighed, somewhat calmed by the idea that Aveline wouldn’t remember. It was better that way. There was nothing to explain that way. And the only one she would hurt that way, was herself.


End file.
